


Walls Will Not Hold The Winter

by TheCourier



Series: to feel alive [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Temporary Character Death, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jon came back not quite right, M/M, honestly it's post-Resurrection Jon Snow what did you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 23:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15851436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCourier/pseuds/TheCourier
Summary: He knew that he should be cold, should move closer to one of the fires that constantly burned here. And yet, there was this morbid curiosity what would happen if he stayed here, just like this.





	Walls Will Not Hold The Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This fic operates under the assumption that, while Jon’s “My watch has ended” walkout was rather cool and cinematic, Sansa didn’t arrive at Castle Black the next day, or however long it has been to be convenient for the show (I’m looking at you, S7). Jon is nothing if not sensible (in some regards at least), so he stayed for a while to make sure Edd isn’t completely in over his head, and also to come to grips with what has happened. Also, the fact that Sansa managed to make a dress and a fecking cloak with a wolf EMBOSSED IN LEATHER implies they spent at least some time at Castle Black.

It was strange, standing atop the Wall now. It was dusk, the light fleeting. The wind and snowfall were the same as ever, harsh, his vision reduced to a couple of metres. Less, looking to the other side of the Wall, into the dark forests beyond.

He knew that he should be cold, should move closer to one of the fires that constantly burned here. And yet, there was this morbid curiosity what would happen if he stayed here, just like this. Did not feeling the cold mean that he was also invulnerable to it? Or would his body just get colder and colder without him realising it until it froze and there would be nothing left of him but a statue of ice and frost come morning? Would he still be aware? Could he die of cold?

Jon lifted his hand, to look at the burn he had received so long ago, when he had burned the wight in Lord Commander Mormont’s quarters. His, now. The thought stung. The flesh was still gnarled, but he didn’t feel anything as he traced over it with his other hand. Had it always felt like this? Or had he forgotten? Should he hurt? Shouldn’t he be in agony each day? The scars on his belly, his heart, looked like he should be. He still could hardly bear to look at himself in the mirror most days, still hadn’t let Tormund touch them. He didn’t know why he was afraid, what he was afraid _of_ , only that he felt _not right_. The wind picked up, but the only indication he got of that was that the fires had started to move differently. He could still feel the wind, but he knew that he should feel it biting, clawing at his skin, it should feel like it was about to be ripped off. It wasn’t right, the way he was now.

“I swear by every and all gods, if you don’t move, I will pick you up and move you myself. Don’t think I wouldn’t do it, I don’t care who sees.” Tormund’s voice was closer than he expected. Not because he didn’t think Tormund wouldn’t come looking for him, he rarely left his side for long these days. But because he hadn’t been aware of his approach at all. Were his senses, his reflexes dulled as well? Or had he been so in his own head that he hadn’t heard? It was almost a relief when he felt Tormund’s breath on his neck, to feel something, _anything_. He took a couple of steps towards one of the fires, still not close enough to warm himself. Tormund grunted, but didn’t say anything, just settled in close to him, bundled in heavy furs. It seemed enough for now.

It was Tormund who had helped him move on after Ygritte’s death. It was hard not to blame Olly at first. It was stupid, he had known that. The boy had seen a wildling woman with a drawn bow, arrow aimed at his Sworn Brother, and had done what anyone in their right mind would have done. Tormund had helped him understand that, too. He had also told him that it had been Ygritte who’d killed Olly’s father. Not in an apologetic way, just presenting the facts. It was hard to stay angry after that. He tried to make up for still blaming Olly by training him, paying special attention to him. Still, he grieved.

Those first few days after Ygritte’s death were the hardest he had ever experienced. It was worse than when he had learned of Father’s death, then Robb’s. Bran’s and Rickon’s. He had known loss, but he hadn’t seen someone he loved _die_ , right in front of him.

With his family, the loss was real, yes, but he could only try to understand it intellectually, he hadn’t been there. And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Seeing it. He hadn't been there, and they were dead. With Ygritte, he had been there and she was still dead.

Now he could think of hardly anything else. Olly, twisting that final dagger into his heart. He had tried to make up for the boy’s pain and loss, and how did he thank him? He knew he was being unreasonable, Olly had paid the price for killing him. They all had. Yet Olly hurt. It was easy to imagine himself in Olly’s place, they had loss, unfair loss, in common. Had Jon’s life been different, had he made different choices, he could have been Olly. He could have been hanged.

And yet, it was Jon who had died first.

Tormund was his rock, an unexpected one, to be certain, going from his captor, to … leader?, to enemy, to prisoner, to confidant, to friend. The lines had become so blurry. It hadn’t helped that they’d crossed the line to friends (in his mind at least) when Tormund was still technically a prisoner of the Night’s Watch. It was Tormund, more than anyone else, any of his Brothers, more than Edd or even Sam, whose judgement he trusted. He knew Tormund would tell him the truth. He would laugh at him when he thought he was being stupid, and that was what kept Jon grounded.

A shove brought him back out of his own head. “Where did you disappear off to?”

“I don’t belong here anymore.” Whether he meant the Night’s Watch, which he had technically left, or this world, he couldn’t tell. He wasn’t certain what he had planned to do before Sansa arrived. He had just known that his place wasn’t here.

“Good. Me neither.” Tormund moved closer to him. “When do we leave?”

Jon swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat unbidden. “We?”

Tormund shoved him again. Harder this time. “Aye. We. What did you think I would do? That I would kneel before a heart tree, swear your bloody oath to never fuck again and just let you leave? You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

“I gave the Free Folk land. You’re their leader. You don’t have to involve yourself in my family’s mess.” Jon stared into the darkness that had started to envelop the forest on the northern side of the wall, rather than look at Tormund. He didn’t know why he tried to talk Tormund out of following him, he _knew_ that Tormund was loyal and true, and, most of all, concerned for his well-being. His actions spoke louder than words. Not that he minced any of those.

“The Free Folk can and have managed just fine without me. You, I’m not so certain. Can’t even dress yourself for the weather. You’d be dead before the White Walkers come without me. And your sister deserves to have her home back. She’s a strong woman.” He touched Jon’s elbow, as if to give him reassurance.

“Let’s get down and get you warm. Want to give you a last proper fucking before we leave.”

Jon snorted and rolled his eyes. “Right.”

They turned to leave. Then Jon stopped.

“What is it, Snow?” Tormund sounded exasperated.

“One last look,” Jon said, and stepped back towards the southern edge of the Wall, where nothing but a single step separated him from a very long fall.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” A slight hint of an edge had creeped into Tormund’s voice.

“I won’t. Just, come here.” He beckoned Tormund. Tormund sighed and took a tentative step toward the drop. He moved closer to Jon. “Look at this.” Jon gestured into the darkness. There wasn’t much to see but for a few fires in the distance.

“I’ve seen it, Snow. Climbed this thing a couple of times, if you remember.”

“I still think it’s breath-taking.” He moved to take Tormund’s hand in his.

“I can’t believe you’re not even wearing gloves, you godsdamned idiot. We’re leaving. Hope it’s warmer in the south, for both our sakes. You’re going to give me an ulcer.”

Jon smiled fondly up at him and pulled him in for a kiss. “Thank you.”

Tormund grunted affirmingly, tugging at Jon’s hands, presumably to pull them into his pockets.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [When Winter Comes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZDt3jeXGfDU) by Miracle of Sound. If you like melodic rock, go check him out. He has made some Game of Thrones songs ([When the Wolves Cry Out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmNjkflVijU), a Jon Snow-centric song is a total earworm), and his video game songs are excellent, too.
> 
>  
> 
> I apologise for the rather long break. I moved, then I got busy with uni work, then got fired from work-work. So, life happened. I will continue this series, but it might be a while between updates/fics. And apparently, this is now a "I will write this in the order I feel like, what is a timeline" series.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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